The wilds of Patagonia

ROBINSON CRUSOE’S ISLAND

Far out in the Pacific Ocean, 360 nautical miles west of Valparaiso, lies a small island, called Juan Fernandez, or Masatierra (i.e., Nearer Land); another 96 miles further out we find a second rocky islet, bearing the name of Masafuera (= Further Away); and at the west end of Masatierra a much smaller islet, Santa Clara, rises out of the breakers. These three islands together form the Juan Fernandez group. From the first moment I got to know anything about the nature and plant-life of this highly remarkable place and saw a photograph of Masatierra, I had longed to go there—without any hope whatever of getting nearer to it than dreaming of that scientist’s paradise. When, in 1907, I left Sweden on my second long journey I had not the slightest idea that one year later I should in fact land on Juan Fernandez. Through the valuable assistance of the Chilean authorities we had been able to save much time, new schemes arose, and the idea of being able to realize my dream of bygone days made my heart beat with expectation. Negotiations were opened, with the result already mentioned above.

The Casma was a good vessel of 4000 tons and very spacious; saloons and cabins were large and comfortable. Her commander was Captain F. Dublé, of the Chilean navy; we shall never forget his kindness and the courtesy of his officers.

At daybreak on August 22 a sailor came into my cabin to announce that Masatierra had been sighted. We came on the bridge in haste, anxious to behold the wonderland. At a distance it looked like any other wild, storm-beaten, rocky island, and I cannot say that this impression weakened as we approached. The sky-high peaks, the valleys with their precipitous slopes, the breakers rolling in on broken cliffs, everything gave an almost repulsive impression of desolation. However, it soon greatly modified as we came into the open harbour, Cumberland Bay, where bright green patches showed up on the slopes interspersed with patches of the naked red soil, where dark forests stretched high up in the valleys and over the ridges, and where a cluster of small wooden huts, here and there with a piece of garden, showed that here also the human race had found means of subsistence, perhaps of happiness.

We set our foot on the shore of a legendary island. Dear reader, do you remember how the wonderful fortunes and adventures of Robinson Crusoe interested you, when you were a small boy or girl and went to the infant school? Did you not dream that it rained drops “large as pigeon’s eggs,” or that you discovered on the sandy sea-shore those footprints making your blood curdle with terror? How the tale of Robinson excited the imagination at the same time that it taught us so many useful things!

Perhaps many of us would feel disappointment when landed on Robinson’s island. Where is the tropical luxuriance, where are the parrots, monkeys, and tortoises, where the descendants of Friday’s people? Well, certainly Defoe let fancy run away with him; he has adorned his island with all the richness of the tropics, and makes his hero land there under the most dramatic circumstances. But I myself did not think of the difference between truth and fiction; the former seemed to me wonderful enough, and I was seized by a feeling of pure joy when I thought that I was really here, walking about on that soil, and able to live through the favourite book of early childhood again.

Masatierra is a steep, rocky island, with an area of only 38 square miles. When you are down at the harbour the chances for excursions seem rather limited, for the slopes rise high and steep all round. In reality one stands on the bottom of an old volcano, surrounded by its semicircular wall, out of which some parts, such as the precipitous Pico Central and the Yunque (certainly deserving its name, “The Anvil”), rise more distinctly. The last one, with a height of 3040 feet, is the highest summit. Thanks to some narrow paths, running in zigzag, it is possible to get out of the crater and cross the ridges, and thus reach the bays on both sides. Many slopes, however, are not possible to climb, and the name of one of the crests, Salsipuedes, which means “try to get out if you can,” reminds one of this.

The spot to which the stranger first makes his way is Portezuelo de Villagra, a sharp gap in the southern ridge, where Robinson is said to have climbed to look out over the ocean. Following the dirty roads between the houses, we ascend slowly till we come to the many-coloured, steep slopes of volcanic tufas and the path disappears in a thicket of maqui. The maqui (Aristotelia) has been imported from the continent in late years, and this disagreeable tree is now spreading rapidly, threatening the original vegetation with annihilation. However, it does not reach very far, and we soon got rid of it. We now start to climb the steep mountain-wall, where the path winds along in a very sharp zigzag; one can sometimes jump down directly into one path from the next above it.

It is time to have a look at the peculiar natural features round us. From a botanical point of view Juan Fernandez is one of the world’s most famous places. It is often the case that islands lying far away from the great continents exhibit a marvellous animal and plant life, containing genera and species not found elsewhere—endemic, as they are called; in this respect Juan Fernandez is perhaps only surpassed by the Sandwich Islands. About 65 per cent. of the total number of vascular plants (phanerogams and ferns) are confined to that small group of isles. It is as if one had been carried back to past geological periods, as if one walked about in a living museum, crowded with rare specimens. So many wonderful plants are brought together here on a small area that one must touch them to realize that one does not dream. Especially worthy of attention are the small, sparingly branched trees with long, thin, more or less erect naked branches crowned by a rosette of large, thin leaves. For the most part they are members of the composite order, but other orders also have representatives. It is besides a remarkable fact that this type of organization is found also on other oceanic islands—the Canary Isles, for instance. The flora is without doubt very old, of a tertiary origin or older, and must have come from the South American continent, but for several reasons disappeared to a great extent on the mainland. The ice age cannot have had any influence of importance on Juan Fernandez.

In the narrow gorges (quebradas) that we pass there is a dense and impenetrable primeval forest. It looks black-green, thanks to the dark foliage of the endemic myrtle-tree, which we found in bud and flower in spite of the early date of our visit. Above the other trees rises the masterpiece of creation, la chonta, the endemic palm (Juania australis). It is impossible not to caress the smooth green stem as one tries to get a sight of its majestic head of large pinnate leaves. Glorious it is, a true princeps of the vegetable kingdom, noble from top to root. Unfortunately it is only too popular. It is persecuted with saw and hatchet, every ship brings away trunks and young plants, and it has already been exterminated from all places easy of access. The top is used as cabbage, the trunk is carved into beautiful walking-sticks, and the young plants are put in the gardens on the coast—in spite of the fact that we have sufficient proofs that the chonta cannot grow on the mainland. In 1895 Professor Johow, of Santiago, the most prominent specialist in the flora, proposed to the authorities to protect the tree in question, and I was told that there exists a law on the subject. However, nobody seems to take any notice of such a trifle.

Creeping or winding plants are hardly met with, with the exception of a few ferns. Arboreous ferns, together with chonta and sandal-wood, have made the islands well known to non-scientists also. The fern flora is really very rich; there are all types of growth, from the mighty fern-trees, reminding one of mountain forests in the tropics, to the wonderful members of genera such as Hymenophyllum and Trichomanes, thin as tissue-paper, or the creeper species adorning the trunks of the trees. The ferns also, especially the arboreous, are the objects of a reckless war of extermination; and our fellow travellers on the Casma were not better than their predecessors, though I expostulated with them on the matter every day. It hurt me to see one boat-load after the other of precious plants taken on board the steamer, most of them only to be wasted.

We have arrived at the portezuelo, or Selkirk’s Lookout, as this picturesque spot is sometimes called. The trees are very low, or have been replaced by strange shrubs mingled with the curious pangue (Gunnera peltæta), and forming a very entangled mass. On a vertical mountain-wall is the tablet erected in honour of the true Robinson, the Scotch sailor Alexander Selkirk. The inscription runs as follows:

In Memory of
ALEXANDER SELKIRK,
Mariner,
A native of Largo in the county of
Fife, Scotland.
Who lived on this island in complete
solitude, for four years
and four months.
He was landed from the Cinque
Ports galley, 96 tons, 16 guns, a.d.
1704, and was taken off in the
Duke, privateer, 12th Feb. 1709.
He died lieutenant of H.M.S. Weymouth,
a.d. 1723, aged 47 years.
This tablet is erected
near Selkirk’s lookout by
Commodore Powell and the
officers of H.M.S. Topaze, a.d. 1868.

This is the historical basis of Defoe’s work. It may look somewhat meagre, but one can understand that poor Selkirk had to work to preserve his life. What a mental trial, not to hear a word spoken by another, not to see a human soul for four years and four months! Thus his fate was pretty adventurous even if told without embellishment. On the other hand, he left his ship at his own request, discontented with the life on board. Besides, he might have chosen a worse place. The climate is very mild, it rains just enough, snow or frost is unknown. A few plants are edible, and the goats, which were much more numerous in Selkirk’s time than they are now, provided him with fresh meat.

Through a walk lined with marvellous trees and precious ferns we pass the natural gate and are on the south side of the island. Down it goes, almost as precipitous as on the other side. We have a magnificent view of the coast and Santa Clara, where a tremendous surf roars. Soon we came out of the forest, and continued on to the barren slopes near the sea. The vegetation here is more like that of a steppe, with short grass and some heath-plants; only along the streams is there a bright green strip, a mosaic of gigantic pangue-leaves. And we bent the thick stalks at the side and drank to the health of Masatierra and Robinson and the whole world. There is only one way back, the way we had come; it was getting dark and we hurried on through showers of rain; large drops splashed on the heads of the rosette-trees, the soil emitted strong, peculiar scents. The last part of the way we slid down in the slippery clay.

Above I happened to mention the sandal-wood. The discovery of this kind of wood, famous since the days of Solomon, on Juan Fernandez most surely attracted notice. We have no reports of it previous to 1624, when, according to Burney, L’Heremite reported sandal-trees in great number. According to another authority ships used to visit the place as early as 1664 to bring the valuable wood to the coast, where it was highly appreciated. One did not think of preserving anything; a hundred years later it was hardly possible to find a living tree, and in the beginning of last century it was regarded as extinct. No botanist had ever seen the leaves or flowers. Suddenly F. Philippi in Santiago got some fresh twigs brought to him in 1888; he found them to belong to the genus Santalum; the species being new, it received the name of S. fernandezianum. The general interest in the tree was increased, but nobody told where the branches came from; a living tree was still unknown, Only in 1892 did Johow get news of one; a colonist had found it in Puerto Ingles, high up in the valley. He was the first botanist who saw this plant. It is easily understood that I was anxious to become the second. How many people had looked for other specimens! All their efforts were fruitless; as far as we knew Johow’s tree was the very last. If it were still there!

The man who brought Johow to the spot still lived, and after we had explained our purely scientific interest he promised to send his son with us. It would have been more than uncertain for us alone to look for a single tree in a valley clad with virgin forest.

It is possible to climb across the ridge that separates Cumberland Bay from the English Harbour, but we preferred to go there with a well-manned boat. The landing is, as in most places on the islands, performed with some risk; one must jump just at the right moment, and there has to be a good crew in the yawl, or the boat would be thrown on the rocks and capsized. Perhaps I ought to mention that the place in question only has the name of a harbour. We walked up the valley and made an ascent of the western side; the place is so steep that one is forced to grasp the trees and shrubs to get a foothold. Our guide stopped, looked round for a minute, down a few hundred yards, and we had reached our destination. The last sandal-tree. Absolutely the last descendant of Santalum fernandezianum. It is so queer to stand at the death-bed of a species; probably we were the last scientists who saw it living. We look at the old tree with a religious respect, touch the stem and the firm, dark green leaves—it is not only an individual, it is a species that is dying. It cannot last very long. There is only one little branch left fresh and green; the others are dead. We cut a piece to get specimens of the peculiar red, strongly scented wood. A photo was taken, I made some observations on the place, and we said good-bye. Should I happen to go there once more I shall not see the sandal-tree; it will be dead and its body cut up into precious pieces—curiosities taken away by every stranger.

In the evening we gathered in the cavern near the shore, Robinson’s Grotto, as it is generally called. Maybe that Selkirk slept here a couple of nights; we know that he did not take up his permanent quarters in this place. The officers from the Casma met us here, bringing some dinner for us. How excellent it tasted in the spirit of poetry lent by Robinson’s Grotto, after what in my journals is entitled “the day of the sandal-tree”!

Early in the morning of August 26 we left Cumberland Bay, passed the magnificent coast cliffs, especially noteworthy at Cape Salinas, continued to the south-western promontory of the island, and anchored in Bahia del Padre. All this coast is more or less difficult of approach, and only in fine weather can one effect a landing. We had enjoyed several days of calm, and were pretty sure of success. One of the colonists, a Frenchman, accompanied us, bringing with him a small flat-bottomed boat; without this a landing would not have been safe, as the water is very shallow close to the cliff, where one has to jump ashore. There is always a heavy surf. The excursion, as usual, was a miniature Alpine tour. Round the coast grow fine seaweeds, and there was a rich animal life, so that the result of our work turned out very well. At nightfall we weighed anchor and made for Masafuera, finding ourselves outside Quebrada de las Casas, the only anchorage, at daybreak. Everybody on board looked forward to this visit with some excitement; the shore there is a steep slope, with large boulders and a heavy surf; several days may pass without a landing being possible, and in any case one must be prepared to get wet. We had very good luck.

The topography of Masafuera is more peculiar still than that of Masatierra. Its area is less—34 square miles—but the height is more than double, for the summit rises to 6500 feet. Its shape is that of a regular cone. The top is situated in the south-western quarter; the north-western is occupied by a plateau, 3000 to 4500 feet high. Towards the east a series of narrow gorges radiate like the ribs of a fan, of which Quebrada de las Casas is the largest and the only one inhabited. From our beach we had seen some houses; we did not take any notice of them, but started to climb the mountain-side without delay. After having crossed several forest-clad ravines, we found ourselves on the plateau; the forest does not extend so far. Quensel had brought his Winchester, and soon got a chance to shoot a fine buck. Wild goats were numerous here.

The most common tree here is a kind of myrtle; it only grows on this island, and here takes the place of the myrtle of Masatierra. We thus found the same state of things as Darwin so splendidly described on the Galapagos Islands. The vegetation above the forest is of a very remarkable appearance—ferns and more ferns everywhere, groves of fern-trees, and a carpet of smaller species.

We had crossed the island and stood above the precipice. In the most breakneck places goats climb with ease, leaving man behind. Below our feet is a bank of clouds hiding the sea; only the roar from the breakers reaches us. Suddenly the veil is torn asunder by a puff of wind, and then, right below—the depth of the abyss is 4000 feet—lies the ocean. Through the rents in the clouds we can see the white foam dancing in across a sandbank, where some wreckage shows the fate of a vessel that came too close. It is a striking sight of Nature’s greatness, that stirs the soul and is engraved for ever in the memory. Time and place are forgotten; but the sun sinks and it becomes necessary to return to our ship.

As the weather continued good the Casma could stop without risk—the place is open to all winds—and I spent the next day making excursions in two of the gorges, and Quensel walked round the island to the west coast. The valleys are truly most remarkable, cut deep down 300 to 600 feet, and perhaps not more than 30 to 50 feet broad in the inner part, with sheer walls, sometimes nearly parallel. One walks in a natural alley, high above is a strip of the sky, and the subdued light illuminates the green carpet on the rocky walls. Here and there a tree is rooted in a cleft, but unfortunately frustrates every attempt to get a specimen; large rosettes of light green pangue gleam on the narrow shelves; the stream, nearly filling up the bottom of the valley, chatters merrily, now and then forming a miniature waterfall. Yesterday we saw the grand, to-day the pretty side of Masafuera scenery. Over the desolate expanse eagles soar looking for prey; down here the humming-birds shoot from flower to flower, flashing with metallic splendour as they twist and turn. Calmness and peace reign; not a breath of wind stirs the elegant runners of the ferns.

The next morning we were back in Cumberland Bay and made some short excursions; unfortunately we could not stop longer, but had to go back to Valparaiso. The voyage across causes much apprehension, as one can get a heavy sea broadside on, but we did not feel much of it. On August 31 we were back again after a most interesting trip, which also gave some very good results—among other things I discovered some plants on the top of Masafuera well known in the south of Chile, but not to be expected out here.

The Spanish navigator Juan Fernandez discovered the islands in 1563, and was their first colonist. As we have seen, it was not long before ships used to call for sandal-wood, and in the seventeenth century Spain erected a small fortress in order to shut out the numerous English buccaneers who had their headquarters in Cumberland Bay. An earthquake in 1751 brought the fort and the small town also built there to an untimely end. But the ruins are still left. Later the island was used as a penal settlement; near the harbour are some caverns where the prisoners lived. In our times the islands were opened to colonization. On Masatierra a number of families lived, and a fishing company had stations on both islands. Sheep, cattle, and horses ran about, greatly to the damage of the vegetation. From an agricultural point of view Masafuera—and perhaps also Masatierra—is of no importance. For the development of Chile it is not of the slightest value that this strip of land should be cultivated. The fishing industry is of much greater account, especially the catching of lobsters. The giant Juan Fernandez lobster (Palinurus frontalis), sometimes from 2 to 3 feet long, does not live on the main coast of Chile, but is the more appreciated there. On the occasion of our visit it was worth sixty cents when delivered by the fishermen to the company; their agents get three pesos in Valparaiso, and when it reached the table of the big restaurants it fetched ten or even fifteen pesos for big specimens (at that time one peso was about eightpence). I daresay the fishing was not managed in a satisfactory way or it would have been a profitable industry; we were told that the company was about to abandon the place. Because of the quite unnecessary colonization the future of Masatierra, as seen from a scientific point of view, looks very dark. But some time ago a still greater danger threatened Masafuera. During our visit to Chile the Government made preparations to establish another penal settlement on that island. An official commission had been sent there, looked at the place, and reported it as very fit for the purpose. Among the various descriptions of labour to be imposed on the prisoners forest-cutting was mentioned—the practically worthless, scientifically irreplaceable endemic trees would be exterminated in the most brutal manner! The least one can demand, now that the prison is an accomplished fact, is that the members of that commission should spend the rest of their lives on the island. Their sin is great enough to justify this.

It is evident that the preservation of natural beauty will appear a strange idea to a people like the Chileans, who first of all must think of the material development of their country, of the education of the people, and other important questions; they have not been able yet to give science the high place it occupies in the countries of the Old World. But in this case there is no time to lose. The Juan Fernandez Islands are of international interest; their destruction means irreparable loss to the whole realm of science. The order of the day ought to be: Away with the colonists! I can hardly imagine a more ideal place for a biological station than this—the queen of an ocean. And at the same time as plants and animals were being protected a profitable fishing industry could be established, many times surpassing in value agriculture or cattle-breeding. Several times I have pointed out these facts to the great public, but all in vain. I daresay a true Chilean does not know what love of Nature means. Perhaps he cannot help it, he was born like that; nevertheless it is a pity.

Since this was written I have had news from Chile that the penal settlement has not turned out very well and that the place is to be abandoned. But do not believe that the island will be left alone. There is another scheme: they are thinking of breeding sheep and cattle for the wants of the army—a most noble pasturage they will get. Is it possible? After what I have seen, anything is possible.